Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
He sidesteps it easily and starts laughing. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait until she realizes what a stubborn ass you are, then make my move.”
“Har, har, you think you’re funny.”
We stand around and shoot the shit for awhile and I thank them for taking care of the animals. I watch as they drive off and then hang out at the barn for the rest of the day. I’ll probably regret it later, and my leg will give me fits, but the more time I have away from her the better.
When it starts getting dark, I hear the crunch of gravel and know that she’s finally come looking for me.
I’ve spent most of the day doing easy jobs to do the upkeep of the barn, but in fact, I just wanted to keep busy and stay far away from her. I know I’ve hit on her, but I’m sure today, I crossed some moral line. Yes, I want her. But I also don’t want her to feel uncomfortable either.
“Rancher, where are you?”
I step out of the stall and look at the other end where she’s standing in the doorway.
Nova
He’s avoided me all day. Either to get out of the therapy or to get rid of me—which it is, I’m not sure. I walk over and look up at him. Thankfully, he’s using his crutches but who knows how hard he’s pushed himself today.
“Hey, I fixed dinner. I figure if you’re not going to show up for therapy, I could at least earn my keep around here.” I laugh, but a part of me is being serious. I caught up on patient notes and straightened up the living room and then spent the rest of the day reading romance novels.
“I’m not hungry,” he grunts at me and right then his stomach growls.
Laughing, I touch his arm. “Your stomach is saying differently.”
He freezes under my hand and I pull it back from him. “Okay, obviously you just don’t like my company. I can have another therapist come out.”
I look up at him and wait for a response, but he won’t look at me. I give him plenty of time, but he says nothing.
I try to keep the hurt off my face, but I know it’s there. I start to walk away to go pack my bags.
“Wait.”
His gruff voice stops me, but I don’t turn around.
He grunts and starts walking toward me, the frustration with his crutches apparent when he cusses as he fumbles with them.
“I don’t want you to leave. Unless you think you should.”
I turn to look at him with my forehead creased. “I don’t understand. Should I think I should leave?”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“Look, obviously you’re not comfortable with me being here. I think it would be easier on you if you had another therapist. I’m going to go pack my things.”
“No!” His hand comes out and cups my shoulder, holding me still. When I turn around, he pulls it away. “I want you to stay. But I don’t want you to be uncomfortable doing it.”
I start to shake my head, but then it hits me. “You’re talking about this morning?”
He nods. “Yeah, I know I’ve joked around with you, but I would never do anything, at least on purpose, to make you feel uncomfortable. I mean, I can’t control my body’s reaction to being near you, but I would never act on it or try to force myself on you or anything.”
I can tell he’s uncomfortable. Has he worried about this all day? “Can we talk about this inside at the table?” I ask. “The food is in the warmer, but I’m starving.”
He looks at me skeptically, like he expects me to go off on him or something. Finally, he nods his head.
We walk side by side back to the house. I take it slow, not wanting him to feel rushed on my account.
When we walk in, the smell of pasta and garlic bread hits us.
“Is that spaghetti?” he asks me.
“Yep. Why don’t you get cleaned up and it will be ready.”
He’s gone only a few minutes before he’s back in fresh clothes and his wet hair is slicked back from his face.
We sit down and start eating. He moans between bites and it makes me wonder how long it’s been since he’s had a home cooked meal.
We eat in silence, and I keep taking peeks at him, watching him enjoy his meal.
“So, uh, I feel like I need to say it. You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable this morning. I’m not worried about my safety or anything like that. I know you’re a good guy,” I start to tell him and then take a drink of water to stall a little.
His hand slides across the table and right before I think he’s going to touch my hand, he wraps it around the edge of the table and squeezes it.